


Steady Path

by 8ball



Category: One Piece
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Jinbe's perspective, M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26253061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8ball/pseuds/8ball
Summary: “I don't know how to be something of that worth.” Sanji whispered.You who have traveled this sea and seen its enormity and been humbled. Jinbe thought of the Sun Pirates and the brands on their skin, replacing injustice with purpose, anger with compassion. You who gives and does not take. He wanted to cry.
Relationships: Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 33
Kudos: 459





	Steady Path

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blondemarimo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondemarimo/gifts).



> Commission for the wonderful Wanda, who I deeply hope enjoys this fic from the view of a giant fish dad

  
  


Maybe it was because he’d been getting on in his years, but Jinbe couldn't help but think of most of his new nakama as _kids_ . Such young, inexperienced people still figuring themselves out- certainly competent and powerful people, but _so young_ . He watched Luffy laugh and tackle Usopp to the ground, both men (boys, really) rolling on the deck over a made up game and giggling themselves into a mess. Across the grass Jibei caught Brook’s eye and raised a brow as if to say _kids, am I right?_ The skeleton softly laughed, and Jinbei grinned. 

Sanji appeared out of nowhere to place a cup of green tea before him, sweeping off to give Brook a glass of milk, and Luffy and Usopp smoothies. He disappeared with a small smile, practically ignoring the excited cheers from the younger crew members, going as quickly as he came. A part of Jinbe wanted to follow him and give his thanks properly, and the other part knew it was better to let the man be. Youth, he’d learned from personal experience, amplified volatility, and despite Wano and their whirlwind of an adventure there, the Straw Hat cook was obviously still harboring pain from Whole Cake. Some wounds were not meant to be bared, and Jinbe felt presumptuous to offer anything more than space.

He thought of Tiger, of friends lost and friends gained and the weight that history left on his chest. He watched the way Luffy never quite stopped smiling despite the enormity of his own loss. But the captain- _his_ captain, was gifted in those quick smiles, and the ship's cook was not. Sanji carried his grief like he felt indebted to it, and it took all of Jinbe’s restraint to not grab him by the shoulders and tell him to just _let it go._ They weren’t close enough for that, not yet, (maybe not ever). 

Interestingly enough though, the fishman didn't have to wait for someone else to notice the cook’s hunched posture and tired eyes. 

The swordsman, Jinbe learned, may practice the code of bushido but he did not live by it. His honesty was painfully direct with everyone _except_ the cook, where they both fell into a stumbling, strange kind of dance by an obviously long standing habit. Entirely performative, the dance included insults and blows that took on an endearing quality the longer they progressed, and it amused Jinbe almost as much as it worried him. _These young people and their young love_ , he thought. Not even two minutes passed after Sanji disappeared before Zoro was stomping towards the galley, throwing the door open and letting it slam, their voices reaching an impressive volume in record time. 

Jinbe sipped his tea and Brook started up a tune, and the children continue on in their strange, funny rituals. 

-o-

  
  


Zoro meditated in the evenings, and didn't bat an eye when Jinbe joined him.

“Do you want to hear his story?” The older man asked, eyes on the sea. There wasn't even a shift in posture from the younger, just a resolution and a straight back. 

“Yes.” He said, very calmly. “But only if the cook wants to offer it himself.”

_Not from you,_ Zoro didn't have to say. Jinbei stifled a grin, feeling strangely proud of this boy and his dedication and loyalty. Such larger than life people, these Straw Hats, not born to be great, but _intent_ on greatness. 

They sat in peaceful silence, breathing in and exhaling the day's events, and Jinbe categorized his knowledge of the then and now. The Sanji of before Whole Cake Island who was brash and bright and a sweet soul with bitter edges- now so clearly withdrawn in himself over a multitude of things. Zoro who had been and still was a man of honor and integrity, but might not be as forthcoming as he should be. It wasn't the older man’s place to interfere with whatever path the two went down, but he did worry that the turbulent waters they were being carried by would result in a collision, rather than a merging. 

“I think if you were to ask, he would tell you.” Jinbe murmured.

Zoro opened his eye and turned to give him a flat look.

“I think if I were to ask, he would kick me.”

The fishman laughed, because it was a partial truth. The younger man joined him, giving a half hearted chuckle at his own expense. 

“You two have a very unique language.” Jinbe said, still smiling. “Maybe he's confided more to you than you realize.”

Beside him, Zoro flushed and turned away. Jinbe pretended not to notice and returned his gaze to the sea, content to sit with the rest of his thoughts. 

  
  


-o-

“May I join you for tea?”

Jinbe glanced up, surprised to see Nico Robin standing with a book under her arm. He rose, quick to gesture to the empty chair in front of him.

“Please do.” He insisted, already grabbing the teapot and filling her a cup. 

He enjoyed her company, the woman having proved to be one of the quietest crew members and easily insightful. A calm, sharp presence. He’d liked Robin immediately when they’d first met. 

Together they watched the usual commotion of the children, Chopper and Luffy played with a ball the size of Jinbe himself. Brook exited the galley and was nearly flattened by the enormous thing. Behind him, Sanji emerged to yell about the noise, and like magic, the swordsman appeared to yell about the cook yelling, and the promised scuffle began for the two. 

“It’s fascinating to watch, isn't it?” Robin hummed, eyes never leaving her book. The ball popped from a sword slice, and cries of outrage went up. Brook remained on the ground, a martyr to the whole ordeal.

“Do you mean the antics of the crew as a whole, or just the mating ritual?” He watched as Luffy intervened, throwing himself at the cook to begin his hourly begging for food. 

“The mating ritual.” Two of her hands sprouted by the teapot, pouring both of them a fresh cup before fluttering into petals. “There are books on the subject, and there are truly some astronomically unorthodox customs, but theirs is still somehow unique.” 

They both continued to sip their tea in silent comfort, Jinbe watching the continued fight and Robin reading. Sanji was somehow managing to attack Zoro with Luffy draped around his neck, and the swordsman didn't seem inclined to offer any pity for the blonde. Then, out of nowhere, it's stopped. Both men fumbled for an awkward, jilted step, like they had both been caught doing something they weren't supposed to. The cook lowered his leg and swords were sheathed and Luffy was punted into the deflated ball. Zoro was already reclined on his back as if his intention had always simply been to nap by the railing, and Sanji let the galley door swing shut behind his retreating form. 

“What’s the longest one you’ve read about?” He asked, glancing over at the woman. She closed the book in her hands, fingers lovingly drifting over the worn leather.

“A lost custom of the Eyrahlith mountain people used to be to have one romantic meeting and then separate for five years, never contacting one another the whole time. It was meant to instil patience and faithfulness, but instead it led to longing and heartache.”

They both watched Zoro get up again and glance at the galley, pausing before turning and climbing to the crows nest. His shoulders looked tight even from a distance. _Longing and heartache,_ he thought. 

“What happened? To the people?” He asked quietly. 

She looked at him then, unguarded and a little fatigued. He was reminded greatly of the philosophers who lived in the depths of the ocean, fishmen who contemplated stars they had only ever seen once or twice. Satisfied with the unknown, so long as the answer existed. 

“I don't know.” And she smiled then, soft and somewhat far away. “Their history continues on, unwritten.” 

Jinbe exhaled, unaware he had been holding his breath.

  
  


-o-

  
“-because you're important to _me_! Does my opinion not matter, cook!?”

Jinbe halted his tracks, reaching out a hand to stop Usopp from advancing as well. The two voices beyond the door didn't decrease in volume. 

“This isn't _about_ you-

“If it's about you then it's about me! I thought you knew that!”

Usopp and Jinbe very carefully took a step back, glancing at each other with wide eyes. The fishman made a gesture for _quiet_ , and the sniper nodded and mimed a quick and silent death. 

“It's not forgivable-

“What, so you want me to be _angrier_!?”

There was a thump and something like a growl from inside. A _crack_ like wood splintering. 

“I’m saying you shouldn’t love me you green fucking idiot!!”

Desperately, Jinbe and Usopp covered their ears, tiptoeing away as fast as they could. The muffled sounds behind the door rose in volume all over again, and didn't soften even when they reached the boys cabin.

Usopp looked up at him with a hopeless, anxious kind of expression that looked too old to be on his unlined face.

“It’s been like this since Sanji came back.” He whispered, both men keely aware of the other sleeping soundly around them. “I don't know what to do.”

There were a thousand things to say to that, starting with _it's not your responsibility to fix this_ and ending with _they have to sort themselves out,_ but it all rang so hollow. The crew was sewn together at the core and they existed as a whole, so wasn't it actually all of their responsibility, in the end? And if nothing else, Jinbe wanted to share what he knew in an attempt to help, in an attempt to _show_ . To say _you have your whole life ahead of you, and this is what I have behind mine_ . Because he understood, too, the pride of a son, of a brother, of a heritage. The desire to be brave and strong every second of every day, to endure the whole world in the name of another. He’d fought beyond his own right, for the good of his people, and maybe these others hadn’t faced his struggles and losses, but they had still struggled and lost. Sanji had survived not for his blood or his name but for his craft, his dream, and _Luffy_. Surely this was where the answer could be found and laid out to digest. The place where tragedy met salvation- at the edge of their captains smile. 

Jinbe didn't know a harsh word or hand by those who raised him, and he did not know the struggle of reaching out to someone he loved who did not love themself. He only understood the blinding, all encompassing loyalty to the boy in the straw hat and the way the sun would rise and fall and exist by his word. Every last one of them all fell to worship in the same way, singing the praises of a king who would break the world apart and lay it all back down, stepping over bones where gods had once stood, and where gods lay to rot.

  
  


-o-

  
  


“Tell me,” Jinbe said, placing the smooth ceramic cup before Sanji. “About him.”

Across the table the cook was nothing but tense muscle and twitching fingers. _Him_ , a word chosen for security, because saying _Judge_ was like dropping a bomb. The older man could tell that Sanji hadn't slept by the purple bruises under his eyes.

“Why do you want to know?”

A hesitant, guarded answer, born from the habit of secrecy no doubt. Jinbe doubted that Sanji had ever even uttered the word _Vinsmoke_ over the past decade. 

“Quite honestly, I’m worried about you.” He said bluntly, watching the way Sanji hunched further into himself, looking hopelessly embarrassed. “You’ve been through a great deal.”

“I’m _fine_. I’ll be fine.”

Jinbe hid his sigh by taking his cup, drinking the jasmine flavor slowly. _These kids and their stubbornness_. 

“No one is expecting you to be miraculously _fine_ , Sanji.”

Sanji, predictably, took this as an insult. 

“What the fuck do you know anyways? Just because you were there when he-!”

The cook cut himself off, grabbing fistfuls of his hair in a painful looking grip. He made a growling kind of noise in the back of his throat, looking every part the wounded animal. 

“Your father-

“ _Don't call him that._ ”

The ferociousness in his voice didn't faze Jinbe, and he simply nodded, solem. 

“Forgive me.” He said gently, genuinely apologetic over his word choice. 

They were both silent for a long while, the tea in front of Sanji growing cold while Jinbe watched the young man in front of him. He could practically see the war being waged under his skin, the desire to speak, the desire to be silent. Jinbe was so painfully reminded of Koala, of the way fear and trauma went so much further than the bone, and broke a person wide open and closed them off at the same time. How the world could end because of a single word or phrase or look. Jinbe closed his eyes for a moment, pushing those thoughts away. 

“I think,” He began again, choosing his words very carefully. “You are holding a very great weight, and you do not know how to put it down.”

The cook remained still and hunched. A stiff, fragile statue.

“And if you cannot put it down, then you should let us help you carry it.” 

Sanji made a small, cracked sound, letting his head drop to the surface of the table. Jinbe was reminded of Otohime, of a person who took pain and laid it to rest inwards. Of a shell that was cracked on the inside, but no more delicate for it's damage. Sanji took a slow, uneven breath and then lifted himself up, grasping the teacup with a white knuckled hand. 

“When he-” Sanji started and stopped, biting his lip and looking away. “On the ship, when he said those _things_ about me-”

His voice trembled, and it broke Jinbe’s heart a little, to see someone so tall become so _small_.

“And Luffy just. Turned it all around, and made it _good_. Like he really thought that I was worth something.” 

Sanji took a shaky inhale, looking around the kitchen like he was utterly lost. He stared out the porthole window, into the cloudy horizon where gray met gray, fragile and quiet. 

“I don't know how to _be_ something of that worth.” He whispered.

_You who have traveled this sea and seen its enormity and been humbled_ . He thought of the Sun Pirates and the brands on their skin, replacing injustice with purpose, anger with compassion. _You who gives and does not take._ He wanted to cry. 

“Sanji, you already _are_.”

Hands fluttering back to his hair, Sanji leaned forward, curling once more into himself in the chair. 

“Do you- can I get you something to eat? Do you want more tea?”

Jinbe watched him for a moment, the way his hands shook so violently and his eyes squeezed shut, as if he was physically pushing it all away. 

“Do you need me to want something to eat?” He asked softly.

“No.” the cook said, then looked up with wide eyes. “Yes.”

Jinbe nodded, watching as Sanji jumped up and became a flurry of motion. He prattled on about possible dishes, going over the details of frosting bases and then fruit compliments, then moving to meat marinades and sauce recipes. He recited full cookbooks and the fishman sat and listened. The trick was in the timing, when it came to adding salt. Dethawing meat in humid weather was a nightmare. Why was vanilla always so damn expensive. And then the blonde started making lemon sorbet from scratch, mumbling about the heat, even though it was cold. The sun dipped by the time the frozen treat was ready, and Sanji cursed and started measuring out rice for dinner. 

“You are an exceptionally talented chef.” Jinbe remarked, watching the way dishes seemed to spring from Sanji’s fingertips, flavor a nearly tangible thing in the kitchen. And for the first time that day, he watched the younger man smile.

“Thank you.” He said, and then paused, looking up at the fishman. “Thank you.” he said again, almost shyly, and the meaning wasn't lost on the older man. 

  
  


-o-

  
  


Nami peered from around a corner and caught his eye. Her red hair caught the morning sun and she nodded her chin behind her, ushering him towards something. He moved to his feet, carefully following her to the garden. 

“Don't be obvious,” She warned “but look at the crows nest.”

Brow furrowed in confusion, he did as she instructed, pretending to be engrossed in the matter of tangerine trees and mulch. Looking up, he noticed the distinct outline of two silhouettes in the crows nest, and his brain provided the helpful information that it was Zoro’s watch until lunch. He wondered who was up there with him, and then the shadows moved, their figures overlapping and-

Jinbe looked away quickly, letting out a bark of surprised laughter. 

“How about that.” He chuckled, turning his back completely to the overly public spectacle and glancing at the navigator. 

“If no ones been kicked out a window by now, they’ll definitely be up there a while. Figured I should warn you to stay clear.” Nami said, grinning like a cheshire cat. 

“Do you think lunch will be late?” He said, matching her grin and feeling almost _giddy_ with odd relief. 

“Honestly? I hope so. Zoro was about to _combust_.” 

They practically fell over themselves laughing, Jinbe feeling like a teenager as they all but giggled. 

“Really though,” She said, sobering up and giving him a soft look. “Thank you for helping him.”

“I don't know what you mean.” He replied, returning her gentle smile. 

The redhead hummed and picked up a spade, kneeling by one of her precious trees and digging up weeds. He crouched down, watching the rich dark earth coat her small fingers. The smell of earth always held a foreign quality to him, making him simultaneously yearn for the sea and yearn for solid land. Something about the way dirt held the history of paths walked and paths chosen, while the water swept it all away. 

“We all love each other very much,” She began, looking so content with sweat on her brow and a stray leaf in her hair. “And it's hard, when we don't know how to help the people we love.”

Nami looked up at him again, her eyes bright and clear, and he couldn't help the ache in his chest when he thought of her past, and the way she smiled easily and genuinely at him. 

“Somewhere along the way we were forced to grow up before we were ready, and it didn't make us the best adults. So it’s nice, to have someone like you who's just, _stable_. If that makes sense.” 

It nearly left him breathless, the trust she was so casually placing in his hands, the way she was allowing him to _see_ her, see all of them. He wanted to kneel before her once again and beg for forgiveness, to tell the truth of his motives, the way he still woke up choking on the guilt of Ace’s death. The way he hadn't been able to spare Luffy from a clean rip right down his soul, and how he’d never forgive himself for the breakage there. How he’d _never_ forgive himself for Arlong.

“It is an honor, that you would put so much faith in me.” He said, voice thick. 

“How could I not?” She smiled at him and returned to tending her groove, the sweet smell of fruit and heat barring down on them. “You’re one of us.”

  
  


-o-

  
  


He didn't mean to intrude on their privacy, and hadn't fully noticed them until he was in the room, frozen by the shelves of books.

He watched the way Zoro reached out, hesitantly at first and then with conviction, his hand on Sanji’s shoulder. The way they shared a glance and an understanding- the way they were the only two that existed in a universe carved out of their own heartbeats. If that wasn't love, he thought, watching as the swordsman reclined in the padded seats, pulling the blonde down with him as Sanji smiled. It was in the way they fit together, molded to each other, connected like two wires that made a spark. Jinbe carefully turned away, leaving the room just as their heads inclined and their lips met. 

_How does the sea hold you_ ? Tiger had asked him once, and Jinbe had asked Arlong, and it was a mystery if Arlong had ever asked another. _Does it lift you up, or let you sink?_

 _Neither_ , Jinbe had said once, long ago, in a time when he had scoffed at patience. _I am simply held_.

 _And how does it feel to be held?_ How did the world hold the weight of the sea, and how did the sea hold the weight of their hearts, and how did their hearts hold the weight of their sorrows? Their struggles? Their love? And what could be more enormous, more remarkable, more devastating than to be held by such love?

“I missed you.” He could hear the words even as he left the room, the whisper doing nothing to diminish the sheer size of the phrase, the heaviness of it all. Smiling, the door closed behind him, shutting with a soft and final _click_. 


End file.
